


A Favor for a Friend

by estelraca



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Dogs, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-10
Updated: 2015-02-10
Packaged: 2018-03-11 14:21:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3329456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/estelraca/pseuds/estelraca
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Bahorel asks Grantaire and Enjolras to watch his dog for the weekend, they don't quite understand what they're getting into.  Modern reincarnation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Favor for a Friend

**Author's Note:**

  * For [afamiliardog](https://archiveofourown.org/users/afamiliardog/gifts).



> Written for Afamiliardog, for the Les Miserables Holiday Exchange February edition. The request was for Enjolras and Grantaire watching out for Bahorel's tiny yappy dog, and hopefully it's enjoyable!

_A Favor for a Friend_

"What is _that_?"

Enjolras stares in dismay at the tiny white ball of fluff cradled against Grantaire's chest. Before Grantaire can actually produce words from his mouth, which is hanging open in an embarrassed grimace, the creature confirms Enjolras' suspicions, producing a surprising amount of noise from its small body.

Enjolras closes his eyes, trying not to imagine all the work he had planned for this evening and the weekend to follow. There is undoubtedly a good reason that Grantaire has the creature. "Did you find it on the street? Was it in danger of freezing to death?"

Grantaire tilts his head to the right and then to the left before drawling out his answer. "Not exactly. You would probably give it a bit more leniency if I said it was, huh? But no, it's not a stray. And on the plus side, it won't be staying past the weekend. It's Bahorel's dog, and he just needs us to watch it while he and Jehan are ghost hunting."

Blinking, Enjolras tries to process the stream of words into something that makes a bit of sense. While he's still processing his tired mouth questions the most glaringly egregious part of Grantaire's statement. " _That_ is not a dog. It is, at best, a rat. It can't weigh more than two kilograms."

"One and one-tenth, actually, though if it's lucky it may hit three kilograms once it's fully grown, assuming no one breaks it." Grantaire holds the tiny creature closer to his chest, earning a spate of growling snarls from the white puffball. "Which I am under strict orders not to do. No letting it jump down from any higher than thirty centimeters, no stepping on it—as if I needed to be told that—no letting it go down steps by itself, no letting it play with other dogs and—hey!"

The little creature has finally sported something that must be a mouth, a snarling pink cavern that appears and then disappears as it latches on to Grantaire's wrist.

Grantaire whimpers for the two seconds it takes for him to kneel down and place the miniscule creature on the ground, at which point it releases its hold on him and promptly runs off.

Enjolras raises one eyebrow at Grantaire's sad expression. "Bahorel's dog?"

"Bahorel's dog." Left hand pressed to the point on his right wrist that the dog bit, Grantaire clambers back to his feet.

"Let me see." Enjolras steps forward, taking Grantaire's wrist and studying the puffy red scratches that the dog's teeth left. "Want me to clean and bandage it?"

"Nah, it's not that bad. I'll wash it out really well when I take a shower in a few minutes." Grantaire sighs, leaning forward until his head rests against Enjolras' shoulder. "I'm sorry. I tried to find someone else to watch it, but it seems like everyone else is busy and Bahorel insisted that it wouldn't be safe to take the beast with them—"

"Ghost hunting?"

"Ghost hunting." Grantaire sighs. "If someone didn't need to watch the creature, I could be with them."

"Mmm." Enjolras pats Grantaire on the back, glancing worriedly toward the bedroom where the dog disappeared. "Instead you're stuck here with me all weekend."

"Instead I get to enjoy being here with you all weekend, but I also get bit by a demon-dog." Grantaire straightens with a sigh. "I should go find her—she is a female, by the way. A miniature Pomeranian, and her name is Ameline."

Shaking his head, Enjolras sighs himself. "He would name her that."

"Says it's hard work being that tiny and not dying." Grantaire shrugs, beginning a slow, cautious walk in the direction the dog ran. "Apparently she was a gift from his mother. She thought he needed something to come home to and look after."

Enjolras frowns, following Grantaire. "I thought she approved of what he does."

"She does. But she also said if he was watching out for something small maybe Bahorel would come home with fewer scars. Apparently if he manages to keep the dog alive for a year she's going to start parceling out siblings to him."

Enjolras tries to imagine Paris filled with small Bahorel siblings and has to pause for a reverent moment in wonder and awe at the havoc that could be created.

"Ami! Here Ami, Ami!" Grantaire gets down on his hands and knees, peering under the couch and behind the bookshelf before venturing into his room and carefully rooting through piles of clothing before peering under the bed. No tiny dog appears.

A quick search of Enjolras' room reveals no dust mop with tiny fangs.

The dog is not under the stove.

There is no dog in the shower.

Enjolras is just starting to worry that perhaps the dog has managed to find a way out of the apartment when tiny needles sink into his ankle.

"Hold still hold still hold still!"

Grantaire's frantic shouts keep him from instinctively kicking at the tiny beast, and after interminable seconds the dog is once more ensconced in Grantaire's arms.

Enjolras bends down, rubbing at his stinging ankle, surprised to see that the little vampire-dog failed to draw blood. "Why did it do that?"

"Because she's a small dog." Grantaire shrugs, once more looking apologetic. "They apparently have a tendency to bond strongly with certain people and be very protective of their territory. She's seen me before, but she apparently doesn't like you."

Enjolras can feel both eyebrows lift. "But she bit you, as well."

"Yeah..." Grantaire frowns down at where his wrist is hidden in growling white fluff. "Well, we already know she has bad taste if she doesn't like you. Not too much of a stretch to think she'll bite the hand that will be feeding her."

"Or maybe she doesn't like being beholden to giants to take care of her." Enjolras runs a finger over his right eyebrow, studying the small dog before shaking his head. "Ah, well. Watching a dog is a small favor to ask. You have food and everything else it will need?"

"Dropped off along with a bed that she apparently doesn't like to use, treats that she will make herself sick on if you don't keep the bag up, and a small shop's worth of toys."

Enjolras nods, picking up his bag and turning to his room. "Then I'm sure we won't have any problems."

XXX

"You _had_ to say it."

"Grantaire, it was just—"

"Are you not aware of the laws of narrative causality?" Grantaire paces the length of the small examining room. " _Why did you say we won't have any problems?_ "

"It was a foolish thing to say and certainly worthy of correction, but it is not the _cause_ of our weekend's worth of predicaments." Enjolras crosses his arms defensively over his chest. "You know as well as I do that if _saying_ something made it come true we'd be in a much better world by this point."

"I know, but what am I going to tell Bahorel if she dies?" Grantaire slumps against the far wall. "All I had to do is watch the dog for two nights and three days. That's all..."

"And you did a very good job of it. I swear that dog was glued to your shirt for the last few days!" It had made moving around the house and interacting with Grantaire interesting, because the tiny dog would go from being a formless mass of white floof to a writhing, snarling monster whenever Enjolras moved closer than a half a meter. Even having Enjolras feed the creature hadn't seemed to make it like him more—if anything she had seemed incensed that he was anywhere near his food.

"But she ate _chocolate_!" Grantaire wails the words. "You heard what the vet said about the potential complications! How do I explain his dog having a seizure and dying because it decided to eat the chocolate chips? How do I explain how the chocolate chips ended up on the floor?"

"By explaining that the dog tripped you when you were attempting to cook, causing you to spill the chocolate—"

"She's going to die and it's going to be my fault."

Crossing the small space, Enjolras reaches out to put a hand on Grantaire's shoulder. "She is not going to die. She's right where she needs to be, and they're going to make sure she's just fine. Besides, you've saved her life more times than I can count over the last two days. Who caught her when she tried to jump off the couch?"

"Me." Grantaire draws a breath that is suspiciously like a sniffle.

"And who kept me from falling on her when she attacked me after I came out of the shower?"

"...Me."

"And who kept her from getting squashed under the stack of books that Combeferre is going to pick up tomorrow?"

"Me, and please stop detailing all the times we almost failed." Grantaire shudders, sliding down into a sitting position on the floor and hugging his knees. "I thought dogs were supposed to reduce stress, not cause it."

Before Enjolras can properly respond the doctor comes back into the room, holding a still cloud of fur close to her chest.

Enjolras' heart sinks as he steps up to the examining table, but a half-hearted growl from the suspiciously wet limp bundle reliefs the worst of his fear.

The veterinarian smiles at him, holding out the dog.

Grantaire hastily jumps to his feet, reaching for Ameline, sparing Enjolras from having to decide whether or not he wants to take the creature and risk getting bit for his efforts.

Or, given the way the weekend has been going, dropping the creature and watching it break a leg.

Hastily depositing the dog in Grantaire's hands, the veterinarian takes a subtle half-step back from the table. "Sorry about her being a little damp—we had to clean her up after her activated charcoal dose. She seems to have vomited up most of the chocolate after the emetic was given, and we've given her something to settle her stomach so she hopefully won't vomit on you at home. What chocolate's still in her system shouldn't be life-threatening. She's most likely going to be just fine."

Enjolras breathes a sigh of relief.

"But just to be on the safe side, I'd like the two of you to give her two more doses of activated charcoal..."

XXX

Bahorel knocks on the door to Enjolras and Grantaire's apartment, trying to stifle a yawn. The things that he and Jehan found were amazing, and he can't wait to see what was caught on film, but first he should save Grantaire from the furiously licking tongue of little Ameline.

The door opens, revealing an Enjolras whose blond hair is streaked with something black and sooty. One blue eye peers out at Bahorel from another black-soot streak that looks suspiciously like eye shadow, and four scratches run vertically over the other eye.

Bahorel winces, recognizing the scratches at least as coming from Ameline.

"Your dog." Enjolras pauses, and Bahorel can see him processing, searching for the right words. "Is an indescribable menace."

Bahorel can't help bursting into laughter at the utterly serious way in which Enjolras makes the accusation. Stifling the laughter as quickly as he can, he clears his throat. "Makes her fit right in with the rest of the Amis, doesn't it?"

"Disagreement I can understand. Dislike, even, is sometimes a valid response. Insubordination and open rebellion are even acceptable. But that creature of yours is an _anarchic force of chaos and destruction that won't rest until all the world—_ "

Grantaire shoulders his way past Enjolras, Ameline held tight in both hands. He offers her to Bahorel with a grimace. "It's all right, Enjolras. She's going home."

Bahorel takes Ameline gingerly, wrinkling his nose as he sees patches of the same sooty black material in her fur. "What _is_ this?"

"Activated charcoal. To save her from her latest suicide attempt. She should be fine." Grantaire disappears back into the apartment and returns with Ameline's travel bag. "If she's not, the record of what was done is in here. You have no idea what you owe me—owe _both_ of us, but I'd wait a little bit before approaching Enjolras. He's usually against the idea of anything being inherently evil, but he may make an exception for Ameline."

"Oh, come on, surely she wasn't _that_ bad—"

A high-pitched strangled noise that Bahorel has never heard before comes from Enjolras.

Grantaire shoves Enjolras back into the apartment, half-closing the door. "Enjoy your demon dog, Bahorel. We'll see you tomorrow."

And with that the door is closed.

Bahorel stays where he is for a few extra seconds, listening to the half-comprehensible whispers of Grantaire soothing Enjolras. Apparently they are going to shower to remove the charcoal from themselves before tackling the more difficult task of cleaning up the rest of the apartment.

Shaking his head, Bahorel smiles down at the tiny white dog who is currently washing his chin thoroughly, making small excited noises. "You did well, my little apprentice. Now, let's get you home and you can tell Jehan all about your exploits..."


End file.
